


Just a Little Human

by LizzyMidford



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Abuse, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Rants, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Suicide, before series 4, my poor smol bean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzyMidford/pseuds/LizzyMidford
Summary: Based off the song by Christina Perry.Just racing thoughts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First Sherlock fic. A bit sad

My mind is racing a mile a minute, a machine, destroying itself from the inside. Two of my main organs battling for dominance of my head and only making the pounding in my skull cross the thresh hold into unbearable.

I paced my flat.  _Yes_ , I remind myself,  ** _my_** _flat. Not **our** flat. _

Billy the Skull sat in John's chair, which I felt some sort of  _sentimental_ compulsion to replace in front of the kitchen. My mind was at war. Reasoning against sentiment. 

And for the first time in my entire life, sentiment wasn't on the losing side. 

Of course, I have no clue why, sentiment is a human error, an issue I shouldn't deal with. I've been told multiple times. I'm not human.

 _I'm a machine_.

A brilliant being that can spot the smallest detail. An ignorant prick who doesn't know the first thing about human interactions. An unfeeling machine. A brain without a heart.  _Not a human being._

I've grown used to being a machine. Able to hold more pressure than most could ever imagine, able to go whole cases, sometimes weeks or months, without any real food or sleep. But can't go two hours without a cigarette. 

Being the  _robot_. The  _outcast_. The  _nerd._ The  _freak_.

I've grown used to faking emotions. A smile at a waitress and she can help me recognize the culprit with her chipped nail polish, a forced chuckle at a bar earns trust with 'friends'.  A wink if I want to get a good impression.

Mycroft had always told me faking emotions wasunnecessary, everyone was an idiot anyways, and we should stick to our own business. Though what's the first thing he knows about other people? It's not like he's interacted with them any more than I have. He's always been more likeable anyways. 

It's not like I'm  _purposefully_ rude. I just can't keep my thoughts inside my head. They stay inside and rush around, filling my brain until I feel like I need to scream. 

I'm not a  _genius._ I'm an  _impulsive idiot who can't shut up._

I never felt like my deductions were ever truly good. They helped people, yes, but nobody really knew or cared, it seemed. Scotland Yard seemed to hate me for them.

And then I met John.

John, who thought I was  _brilliant. Amazing. Clever._

John who praised me, who seemed to know me more in a second than anyone, even Mycroft. 

I felt amazing, running around London with my partner. My best, almost only friend. 

I soon felt something new.  _Sentiment_. Feelings expressed towards somebody else. I  _trusted_ John,  _relied_ on John. Dare I say,  _loved_ John. 

I would do anything for John. I've jumped off a building for John. I've allowed my enemy to destroy my entire credibility and reputation for John. I've been through what can only be described as honest Hell for the man, and I honestly would do it again. 

I've defended a woman who tried to kill me for John, allowed her into my life, because he chose _her_.  

And now, here I am. 

No longer fighting between the machine that Mycroft wants me to be and the human that John  _needs_ me to be.

Before I could think, I pull the trigger, killing another human being for someone much more important. For John. 

My arms raise into the air. I tell John to stay back. 

My mind is still racing, but I can hear my brother. He's asking them not to shoot, how admirable. As if I'm not going to die either way...

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

I almost told him.

 _I almost told him_.

I'm horrible. Just imagine. Being confessed to shortly before a  _suicide_.

I must be higher than I thought if I was  _that close_ to ruining John's life. 

Injecting the last syringe I brought, I added it to the list. 

The list wasn't really needed, but it was a habit. It felt.. wrong not to have a list.

I tucked it into my jacket pocket, reclining on the airplane seat. I pulled up John's blog. Drifting away to memories of when things were easier. When my mind was slower...

Speaking of slow...

My eyes are heavy...

I can't... I can't think...

 _John..._  

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think!


End file.
